Smooth and Suave
by reidiantdawn
Summary: Forsyth tries to prove himself after Python insinuates he lacks flirting skills. It goes about as well as you'd expect. Also, Alm and Atlas debate semantics. Sir Purr appears at some point.


**Smooth and Suave**

* * *

The pub was filled with an ambient bustling. The tavernkeep wife and various waitresses scurried around, serving drinks and frothing mugs to the men and women seated around each wooden table.

Zofia was safe - the invasion from Rigel was repelled, and the god Duma had been brought into a deep sleep. The unsteady harvests that the goddess's disappearance had brought were finally coming to an end. Common folk and nobles alike had cause to celebrate. And today, the tavern situated on Zofia Harbour was crowded by rejoicing civilians of all walks of life.

Python leaned his head back as he took a swig of ale from his mug. He sat it down upon the table with a thump.

"Aah, now _this_ is life. Sure, I would've preferred a little more peace and quiet... But no undead monsters roaming around? No impending attack from an enemy nation? Sounds grand!"

His fellow soldier, Forsyth, was more reluctant, and his glass had been left relatively untouched.

"Python," he reprimanded with his usual tone of admonishment, "as a soldier and future knight of Zofia - no, of _Valentia_ -you know we've got a great deal of work to do. After all these conflicts, the kingdom needs rebuilding."

"You could do with being less stiff, Forsyth," said Python with a laugh. "The war's over, why not celebrate? Besides, d'ya really have to keep harping on about 'knighthood' and all that? I've already told you my choice."

Forsyth sighed. Despite his excitement at being offered a knighthood due to his contribution to the war, Python had been far less enthusiastic, claiming he would choose a quieter life. He knew that no matter how much he tried to convince his childhood friend, the archer had always been obstinate in his decisions.

"I suppose there _is_ a great cause to make merry," Forsyth admitted. "Though you should still remain on guard. The war may have ended, but trouble may occur anytime."

"You're no fun," muttered Python. Raising his voice, he suddenly said, "Hey, whaddya think of the lass over there with the pink kerchief?"

"Wh-... Python, why, I never took you for the type to go after women like that!" Forsyth balked at the abrupt question. "Did you not decide that it took too much effort? And to do such-"

"Oh, let your greaves down a little, Forsyth. Hell, even Clive has quite a few salacious tales about him. You don't think he courted Mathilda without any experience, do ya?"

"Well..." Forsyth truly hadn't thought about that. He tended to think of Sir Clive only in terms of being a just and courageous knight of Zofia, embodying the noble ideals of knighthood. "Perhaps Sir Clive... _has..._ but I doubt he would act in a sordid manner! He most definitely used a honourable and respectable demeanor in those sorts of dealings."

Python rolled his eyes. "Oh, spare me your wide-eyed ramblings." Then, a grin spread across his face, as though a wicked idea had come to him. "So, how well are _you_ with the ladies? Not as good as your idol, I bet - in fact, grumpy ol' Forsyth probably scares all the ladies away with his loudness."

"W-What?" Forsyth's face flushed. "Of course not! I am in no way 'grumpy' or 'loud'!"

"Says the uptight knight who spends all his time yelling at poor Python. Even I could chat up women better. Without putting much effort in, naturally."

Forsyth put his hands on his sides. "I can most certainly talk to women! I'll prove it to you right here and now, Python, that my passion can charm 'the ladies' more than your apathy. I shall do as Sir Clive did!"

"Good luck with that," said Python with a chuckle. "You're hardly smooth and suave."

Forsyth stood up with utmost solemnity and sincerity, and began his completely serious and crucial quest - to woo women.

His quest did not go well.

* * *

"Y-you have such brilliant... _brown_ eyes!" he said to the woman with the pink kerchief. "Much like... er, the fertile soil brought by Mila's blessings!"

"Oh, thank you? Wait... are you comparing my eyes to dirt?" She gave him a blank look. Forsyth's cheeks flushed. He hadn't prepared himself at all for this conversation.

* * *

A young woman with bobbed hair was staring at Python from the other side of the pub. As Forsyth approached her, he could hear her gushing over him.

"Oh, that soldier over there... He's _so_ dashing! His blue hair... his calm, composed look... If only I had the confidence to talk to him!"

"Hold on there, fair lady!" Forsyth cried, and the girl jumped in shock. "Do not let yourself be fooled - that man is no charmer. No goals, no passion… He puts no effort into anything! Just flitting around, doing the bare minimum. A relationship with that daft fool would only end in disaster!"

"Er...?"

He spent the next couple minutes ranting about Python and his laziness.

* * *

Forsyth glumly dragged himself to the corner of the room. His last attempt had ended up with the girl leaving before he could finish. He _had_ gotten a tad carried away with the subject matter... Well, he had only tried twice! The third time was the charm, as people oft-quoted.

The woman standing near a pile of barrels was wearing a heavy brown cloak over her shoulders and head. Forsyth could barely make out red curls of hair underneath the hood.

"Good day, miss. How might you be doing?" He boldly marched over to her.

She looked up at him. "Oh? Good sir, I am merely watching the cats here. Aren't they so... adorable?"

Indeed, an orange cat was playing on the top barrel with another, patch-patterned cat. Allowing them in an establishment that served food and drinks seemed an awful lot like a health violation, but Forsyth had to agree that they were certainly cute.

Now, Forsyth could use his knowledge and all he had learnt as the son of a scholar! He would surely win this woman's heart. Recalling the books he had read last week, he said...

"They most definitely are! As a matter of fact, that one over there is known as a 'Valencian Orange', so called because of its resemblance to the fruit. The other cat is of the 'Zofian Shieldhair' breed! Did you know that the Zofian Shieldhair was named not only because of its stiff fur, but due to the remarkable speed at which it can lick shieldfish carcasses clean of all meat?"

The woman was staring at him more intensely now. He had caught her attention now!

"Oh, isn't that interesting? I never knew Sir Purr here could do that?" She began scratching the neck of one of the cats. "Aren't you so amazing, Sir Purr?"

They were soon exchanging facts and information about the various cats of Zofia Harbour, thoughts of flirting totally forgotten.

By the time she was leaving, Forsyth remembered what he had come here for.

"Wait, miss, could you- er..."

She was gone.

* * *

At this point, Forsyth had attempted to chat up more than a few different women. He had only read a bit about the ways of charming women, though, so his lines were less than effective.

"After seeing the undead every day at the Deliverance hideout, you are, beyond doubt, an infinitely more gorgeous sight! W-Well, I didn't mean it like _that_..."

"You... You look three times as beautiful as Duma's witches! ...Perhaps that wasn't the best choice of words."

"Have the gods demanded to have you tied up and sacrificed to a Necrodragon out of jealousy? Because you're absolutely stunning! ...W-wait, don't leave!"

"I agree, Sir Clive is wonderful! His bravery, his integrity, his kindness..." This led to a discussion on Sir Clive's best qualities. The mole underneath his lip was mentioned quite often.

On the other hand, Python had somehow attracted a gaggle of ladies, all giggling and swooning. He hadn't even moved an inch, still lazily sitting in his chair and gulping down ale.

"P-Python!" Forsyth cried. "But how-?!"

The archer grinned. "I didn't even put in any effort. See, Forsyth, you're trying too hard."

Forsyth sighed. "I've been spurned by nearly every woman here... The closest I have got was with the woman in the cloak, and we were just discussing _felines_!"

"You've gotta have a plan in mind, first of all. Why don't you say something like... 'I'm gonna take you away to Dreamland, baby?'"

All Python got in return was a bemused expression. "Why would I call someone an infant? Is this term not demeaning? And what is this land of dreams, exactly?"

"Jeez, guess there's no hope for you..."

"Python, what are you laughing about?!"

* * *

By the time Forsyth and Python left the tavern, the sky was a blend of orange and red. The shimmering sun was slowly drifting downward. And Forsyth's hopes and pride had been... crushed.

"Not even one accepted my invitation... Am I truly that lacking in the social department?"

Python patted his friend on the back. "Hey, no hard feelings. You're loud and sometimes grouchy, easily irritable, and stiff, but you're a good, friendly guy with a lot of energy! Kinda like a puppy. Well, I guess women don't like puppies in that way, do they?"

"Thanks, Python," grumbled Forsyth.

That was when they passed a familiar young man in an intense conversation with a taller, muscled man.

"I'm telling you, Atlas… No offense, but this doesn't exactly make sense..."

Forsyth perked up at hearing the younger man's voice. "Ah, Sir Alm! A pleasure to see you. What business do you have here?"

"Huh?" Alm turned to the green soldier. "Oh, Forsyth. I was just here to... well, to enjoy a bit of free time with Celica, but then I got caught up in a conversation with Atlas here. Over something nonsensical, really."

The burlier man, Atlas, grunted. "Lord - er, King Alm… Look. I respect you and all, but what do you mean this doesn't make sense?!"

Alm placed a hand on his forehead. "Come on, I get that wood can be smooth, but 'suave'? You can't call inanimate objects suave, you know!"

"... _Suave_ wood?" Python barked out a laugh. "Really?!"

" _I'm_ the woodcutter here!" said Atlas. "And I'm tellin' ya, it's undeniably a 'smooth and suave' kinda wood!"

Next to Atlas was a wooden cart carrying several logs. It seemed he was going to sell them at the market.

And that's when Forsyth saw it.

It was as though destiny had brought them together. A piece of wood, smaller than the others, but far smoother and polished. It had a certain quality to it... A finesse, an elegant and sparkling flair that could not be easily described. It was _suave_.

Forsyth was immediately charmed.

"Might this be the wood you're discussing?" he asked Atlas. The woodcutter furrowed his brows, but nodded. "How much is it?"

Python gave him an odd look. "Wait, you're not seriously...?"

"I can't help it, Python!" cried Forsyth as he paid several silver marks for the wood. "It's not only smooth, but suave!"

"N-not you too, Forsyth?" whispered Alm in horror.

Forsyth hugged the piece of wood. "I... I love this wood! Far better than any woman or man... it's _suave wood!_ "

"Yes!" yelled Atlas, pumping a fist in the air. "I told you, it's smooth and suave wood!"

Civilians had started staring at the arguing group. A mother told her child to stop pointing at the weird men.

A priestess wearing a cloak took a look at the gaggle debating wood in the center of the square. "Looks like Alm is a bit occupied... Oh well. He's such a dunderhead sometimes, don't you think?" The girl looked to the cat laying on the ground nearby.

The cat meowed in response.

Sunset fell over Zofia Harbour as the king of the One Kingdom of Valentia, two former soldiers of the Deliverance, and a villager that had also participated in the war argued over the semantics of suave wood. Well, one of the soldiers was watching with a dismayed reaction rather than his usual apathetic expression, and the other soldier was lovingly holding a log.

Lukas poked his head out from inside the tavern.

* * *

"So you see, this is the account of events that took place in Zofia Harbour on the fifteenth of Flostym," said Lukas.

Clive looked from Alm to Atlas to Python to Forsyth, to the piece of wood innocuously seated on the table.

"I... see," said Clive with a heavy sigh. Why did he have to deal with this right after the war? Oh, because he was now the captain of the kingdom's Brotherhood of Knights. And though Python hadn't accepted knighthood yet, he was still a former member of the Deliverance who had been at the scene at the time.

"I didn't even get to spend much time with Celica," grumbled Alm. "Stupid wood!"

Forsyth frowned, apparently ignoring the fact that he was talking to the man who had united Valentia.

"Don't hurt its feelings!" Atlas nodded in agreement, crossing his toned arms.

"All of you who were there at the time..." said Clive. "Please come with me. It seems we have quite a bit to discuss."

They trailed out of the room, Forsyth glancing back at the wood with a wounded expression.

Lukas was left behind in the room, all by himself. He looked at the wood displayed on the table."I certainly can't imagine Forsyth trying to woo women," he said with a laugh. "Or that such a commotion would be caused by a piece of wood."

He shook his head and stepped towards the table. "Ah, well. All's well that ends well." Lukas gently lifted the suave wood as though it were the dainty hand of a noblewoman. His smile now seemed more malicious, almost twisted. "After all, now that Forsyth is gone..."

It had all been a part of his plan. He had watched Forsyth's attempts to chat up women in the tavern, and then he had seen the wood. Lukas had fallen in love with it, just as Forsyth had.

And now his competition was gone.

"...there's no one to separate us."

* * *

 **A/N:** My first fanfiction, and it's about suave wood. Thanks, Robotortoise.


End file.
